


A Special Brew

by penpaperbookcoffee



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, Shenanigans, and green beer, lots of green beer, lots of shenanigans, oh and vague sexy times, that special pipeweed, this takes place in the "special blend" universe after all, twincest if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpaperbookcoffee/pseuds/penpaperbookcoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems Elves enjoy green things of all kinds--even ale.  Or something very much like ale, Nori assures them, and rather strong ale, at that.  Perfectly safe for drinking, even if it was of elvish make.</p><p>Or, a story in which green ale gets a bunch of dwarves, a couple of elves, and a lone man well into the spirit of things, and shenanigans are the result.</p><p>Takes place in my "A Special Blend" universe.  You've been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Special Brew

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Special Blend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/707429) by [penpaperbookcoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpaperbookcoffee/pseuds/penpaperbookcoffee). 



> This is a fill for the **hobbit_kink** meme: _St. Patrick's Dwarves! - So, its St. Patrick's Day/Weekend! There needs to be fun with my two favorite Irish Dwarves, Bofur and Kili!_. (http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5821.html?thread=13301437#t13301437)
> 
> This is probably not what the requester was looking for, but I couldn't resist the prompt for some St. Pat's day shenanigans (green beer!), especially with two of my three favorite dwarves. And if any of you are counting (and drinking) the number of times the word "shenanigans" is used here, you should be well on your way to shit-faced by the end of this fic. You're welcome.
> 
> Cheers, and have a magically delicious St. Patrick's Day!! 
> 
> (warnings for wild pov switches. sorry, not sorry. just kind of happened.)

Their Elven hosts seemed to like all things green. Green was everywhere in the Valley--the plants not just for clearing the air and smoking in pipes, but artfully arranged for contemplation, woven into each others’ hair as ornaments, or plated up in strange combinations as _food_ , of all things. And though the Elves, it seemed, preferred wine to any other form of alcohol, they seemed to stock a cellar with barrels of ale. _Green_ ale, vibrant green, all kelly and ivy.

Or so Nori swore to his companions, after an _accidental_ detour into a rather secluded building in some distant area of the common grounds of Rivendell where he just _happened_ to accidentally tap a barrel, only to have a strange, green liquid _accidentally_ spill out into a cup that just happened to be sitting there on the bench--smelling exactly like any thick, quality lager, though unmistakably _green_. Further (spying) investigation proved that this was, in fact, ale, or something very much like it, and that it was safe to drink and led to much merriment.

Ori and Fili and many of the older dwarves wondered why it was green. Elvish trickery? Strange and unknown varieties of hops? Poison? (Nori had rolled his eyes at this a bit, as he’d seen _elves_  drink it, and surely they wouldn’t be serving up poison to their own--though, to be fair, he didn’t trust them to not serve up some heavily laced beverages to a bunch of furniture-burning _dwarves_ , but they hadn’t offered this strange brew to their rowdy guests, so he could be fairly certain it wouldn’t kill anyone.) They missed ale terribly, but could they trust some strange elven brew?

Only Kili and Bofur wondered why Nori hadn’t brought any back. Ale was ale, and, in Bofur’s case, anyway, he’d drank worse brews before, he could say with certainty (had even brewed a few of his own, back in the day, when Nori got it into his head that it might be a good way to make some side cash--Dori had eventually stopped throwing up long enough to put Nori into a wall and knock Bofur out cold, threatening everything from their heads to their balls for at least three more days after, which had ended their short-lived career as brewers.). Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Don’t look a gift pony in the mouth. Et cetera.

Thorin, as leader, had what most considered final word on the matter. Sadly, he hated elves, and most anything they did create, had created, or would create (he was still reconciling his sword--perhaps the long centuries of troll possession had sullied it enough to counteract all the elvish hoo-ha?--but it was sharp and useful, and a weapon, so he could deal. For now.), so the idea of bringing a keg or four of the brew up for all to enjoy was vetoed. Swiftly. And with deliberately _pointed_ looks at Nori and Bofur, who were just as deliberately ignoring him.

(In fact, they seemed to be completely distracted from the ale, bickering over some odd little bet to find a place to _relax_ at some point during this stay--sooner rather than later, thank you--someplace with some privacy, where they could really let loose, and with some comfortable furniture. Like a bed. Or a good, soft rug. No one who overheard dared to ask. They really, really didn’t want to know, and most had the good sense to stay the hell out of their way lest they be pulled into the mischief--or on the receiving end of it. Except Kili, of course, but he was pretty sure he already knew the reason, and, damnit, he needed to stop grinning **_right now_** , because Dwalin was starting to look suspicious, and Fili could read Kili’s shit-eating grins a league away, and no far-off elvish love den would keep either of them out of his business.)

No one could say if Thorin was naive enough to think his words had had any impact whatsoever on either dwarf (and possibly his nephews, though he _could_ do something about that, if he really wanted to), or if their leader had realized how futile it would be to try and keep Nori from doing whatever it was he’d already decided to do--and, for once, had decided to pick his battles--but their leader had enjoyed a relaxed meal and a bit of mild merriment with his Company later that evening, before retiring to his room for the night.

(Or, maybe Thorin just didn't care if the dwarf did steal a few barrels of elvish brew, it belonging to  _elves_ , after all; and there was always the chance that, if it did make his companions sick, they would hopefully vomit all over something beautiful and irreplacable.  Even Thorin would get some smug satisfaction from  _that,_ after all, and politics be damned.)

Which was how a small group of dwarves found themselves in a secluded outdoor grove (well, there were no elves blathering on about tra-la-la and whatnot from the trees, anyway) some time later, sitting around a small, merry fire, with a fine selection of elvish sweets and two barrels of elvish ale tapped and flowing. Bofur and Nori were there, of course, the kindly hosts, as were Kili, and Fili, and Ori, surprisingly. (Or maybe not so surprisingly, with the way Nori had winked at his little brother and jerked his head towards the outer walkway leading out into the gardens when Bombur, bless him, had carefully spilled hot tea all over Dori’s lap.)

It had been a bit touch-and-go for a moment when two elves (and a young man claiming to be their brother--strange folk, all.) had wandered into the area, but when it became clear that they themselves were already well on the way to shit-faced and had been attracted to the merriment-- _and was that grove ale, there? Fabulous!_ \--with intent to join (for the night was still young and elves didn’t need sleep anyway), the dwarves had settled down and things had gotten good and rowdy in short order. It turned out that the elves (and man) had quite a love for bawdy songs and poetry, and there wasn’t a dwarf alive would couldn’t tell at least five raunchy jokes off the tip of his beard (and Bofur was in their company, which upped the ante quite a bit, in that regard), and it had gone downhill from there.

_“So, three dwarves, a man, and a pig stumble into a tavern...”_

_”...and then, in comes the lass’ sister, and isn’t she a fine little thing, herself, and she drops right down...”_

_"There was a young woman named Sally_   
_who loved an occasional dally_   
_She sat on the lap,_   
_of a well endowed chap,_   
_and said "You're right up my alley!"_

_”Oh, ho! Have I go’ one fer ye, lad..._

_Ther’ once was a man from Rohan_   
_Who said ta his girl, "Yer a tight 'un."_   
_She said, "Pardon me soul, but yer ‘n the wrong hole._   
_Ther's plenty o’ room ‘n the right 'un!”_

And so it went as the night wore on--the songs getting bawdier and the challenges and betting raunchier--and the dwarves were pleased to find that these elves, and their human companion, were not like the uptight fellows they had dealt with so far. They were delighted with the ale (though maybe a bit _too_ delighted; Bofur, who knew quite a bit about doing things you probably shouldn’t, was pretty sure he recognized the winks and smiles the three exchanged, foreign though they were to him, and he wondered just what this green ale was made _for_ ), and threw it back with a ferocity that not even the dwarves could match, though Ori, bless the lad, was giving it a good, dwarven go.

His ancestors would be proud. Nori was extremely amused. Dori was going to kill them. When Bofur pointed this out (though he didn’t seem very concerned himself, having scaled back--slightly--on the ale in favor of smoking a pipeful of his special blend and laughing at the shenanigans of the younger ones around him), Nori just slapped him on the back and laughed harder.

“Life’s for living, friend. Ori needs a bit of shenanigans to counter all that fussy disapproval and knitwear. And you'll take care of Dori for me, good and proper, won't you?" To which Bofur laughed and started to ask Nori when the other dwarf had suddenly become ok with thinking about the... _things_ Bofur occasionally got up to, in regards to the eldest son of Hanori, when he was interrupted by one of their group:

“ _What_ did you just say?”

It came from one of the elves, laying on the ground in a full body lock by the other elf (his brother, they had learned, though Nori would bet they were twins, and with his own gold, too), where they had previously been engaged in a violent tussle while the man and the young dwarves cheered them on and tossed bags of coin around freely. They were both frozen, now, and that made for a rather funny scene--if Ori falling over laughing, Fili snorting half an ale, Kili giggling like a fey thing, and the young man ( _Westel? Nestel?_ ) spontaneously bursting into a very ribald song about two elves caught in a fever dream and fighting for the attentions of a beautiful blond mare were anything to go by--with legs and arms everywhere, and it took awhile for both Bofur and Nori to calm down long enough to focus on the elf who’d spoken.

“What do you mean, what did I just say?” Nori asked, slightly distracted by kicking his very drunk little brother _away_ from the fire the dwarf had been rolling towards.

“That word! Shenanigans! It’s a fine word. _Shenanigans_. Quite rolls off the tongue, it does. Whatever does it mean?”

It was Bofur who answered, “Ha! ‘Tis eh good word, yea. Good fer all sort o’ troublemakin’ an’ good times.” He winked in Kili’s direction and puffed out a little smoke ring that floated over towards the other dwarf. “We dwarves be known fer our shenanigans.”

Nori chuckled around his own pipe, and waved his tankard around, indicating the group before him. “Well, some of us. And we’re missing Gloin’s lad, for all Gloin thinks he shits stone fairies and precious gems, the silly fool.”

Bofur nodded, unsettling his hat in his vigor. “True story, friend. Some dwarves be right uptight, ye might say, but these lads, they be ‘ehs fine eh group ye could hope fer ta get up ta ‘eh good ‘n’ proper night o’ shenanigans.”

Nori leaned forward, happy with a captivated audience as any dwarf would be. “We’d be considered ring leaders of shenanigans amongst our companions,” and he gestured around at the young dwarves, “and they’d be right, see, as we’re doing what any good, bad dwarf worth his balls and shenanigans would do, and corrupting the youth right proper.”

Kili started giggling harder, crawling towards the two older dwarves (who'd by now smoked enough to wreathe themselves in the heady, sweet-smelling haze Kili couldn't seem to resist), kicking away from his brother’s grip on his ankle. “‘Tis true,” he said, with a wink, “and I’d have to agree that you two definitely have a balls for it. ‘Er, them. _Shenanigans_.”

Fili had rolled with the kick and ended up rolling right into Ori and the elf currently extracting himself from his companion, which quickly devolved into another tussle between the elf and the two young dwarves, with the young man ( _Kestle?_ What a strange name, even for men.) cheering them on. The other elf remained splayed on the ground and focused (as well as he could, for none of them were all that steady or clear-sighted at this point--it was mighty strong brew) on the two dwarves before him from his upside down vantage point.

The elf watched the younger dwarf (were they all that comely as lads?) sort of stumble-roll into his field of vision and manage to land across the legs of the other two dwarves, rolling over onto his back (and earning a grunt and knee to the head from the dwarf with the strange hair--and while Elrohir wasn’t quite as studied on dwarven culture and constitution as his brother, he figured any male taking a shot to _that_ area would react just the same) and going boneless as he started singing off-key about a curious dwarf lad and _pie_ , of all things, while pawing at the pipe of the other dwarf, who was easily fending him off. There seemed to be some affection there, though, as both of the older dwarves were chuckling and blowing more smoke rings down at the dwarf across their laps in a teasing way, which made the young dwarf stop singing ( _thank the Valar!_ ) in favor of whining about pipes and special blends and the heartless shenanigans of mean ol’ dwarves being stingy with their _goods_.

Elrohir blinked. “And is _that_ covered by this new word? _Shenanigans_?”

Kili rolled his head over to look at the elf ( _Merohir? Nelladin?_  They all looked the same, damnit, and what was with those funny names?)--eyes crossing as he tried to focus, which made the elf’s own eyes cross in return, and they all should really stop drinking soon before things got truly stupid, Kili thought, before he quite forgot everything he'd been thinking, and what had the elf asked again.. _Oh!_ \--"Wha?”

Nori and Bofur (Elrohir was sure he had these names right--and maybe that was why dwarves chose their public names to be easy and simple and _rhyming_ , because they really were much easier to get out around a tongue made lazy by drink, and wouldn’t it be a fine thing to give Elladan his own dwarvish name in that spirit?) roared with laughter at their young companion's blissful confusion and gestured back and forth to each other for a bit, before answering the elf.

“Well, yes, it probably would.”

Kili was giggling again, and singing, with Bofur adding his own raunchy words to the increasingly ridiculous song, and it seemed Bofur had lost the fight for his pipe in his distraction, as the younger dwarf was happily puffing away on it, though bemoaning the loss of his of ale. That brought Ori over to fetch up tankards for refills (and to let his brother know that the other elf and the man had challenged the two dwarves to prove their skills by fetching a horse and a hair comb and something about a sword of some elf named Glorfindel, and a book from the library, of all places, as well as a harp--they hadn’t liked that fussy elf who’d greeted them, anyway--and, if they really wanted to prove themselves at this shenanigans business, there was a flask of a mighty fine, rare liqueur in the study of the elf who ran the place that would probably help _all_ of them out, come the morning...)-- _and what in the world had happened to the dwarf’s shirt_?

Ori had only a shrug for an answer--and mumbled something about a tussle and clothes just _getting in the way_ , but he hadn’t _meant_ to throw it in the fire, really, so please don’t tell Dori, ok?--before FIli was dragging him off towards the other elf ( _Welladan?_ ) and the young man beside him ( _Hestel_ , clearly, and the dwarves felt sorry for the man for having such a name), calling back at Kili that the dwarf was a lazy fuck and wouldn’t he be upset that he’d missed the fun come morning because he couldn’t hold his drink like Fili? Kili didn’t seem phased by any of it, giving his brother a rude gesture that even the elves recognized while trying to keep his teeth clamped around the pipe in his mouth so Bofur couldn’t get it back.

Elrohir wondered if the dwarves had any idea just how impossible those challenges would end up being, and also wondered if they knew just who Elrohir and Elladan, and even Estel, were, and that the chance of offending their father might just get them kicked out of Imladris if they did manage to get both the miruvor _and_ Arwen’s favorite hair comb? He knew his brother and Estel knew, which was why they’d challenged the dwarves to do it (for, surely, no one was foolish enough to _actually_ attempt it?), and had Elrohir had a clear head--what, in Eru’s name, was in that strange weed the dwarves smoked? To say nothing of the two barrels of strong, ceremonial grove ale that they'd finally finished off with the last round of refills--he probably would have pointed out that, clearly, these were young dwarves, and possibly not the brightest, and that the older two, who probably should have stopped all of them, were just settled back against the tree and watching with playfulness ( _and was that **pride**_?) in their eyes while the young dwarves and Elrohir’s brothers disappeared into the shadows around Imladris, clearly not concerned at all. Those two were casually fending off the hands of the younger dwarf sprawled across their laps--who had lost the pipe, and his tankard, and seemed to be whining about shenanigans and _shenanigans_ , again, and Elrohir decided that he would use this word until the end of his days--while they discussed bets and outcomes of their young companions’ challenge.

Betting. Now there was something he and his brother were fond of, for sure (to the endless consternation of their father), and quite good at, though he’d never bet against a dwarf. Still...

“What odds, Elf?” Nori demanded almost immediately, after Elrohir had come into the betting.

“I’d say, slim. Very slim.”

“Not impossible, though.”

“Oh, no. My brother and I have managed all at least once, though admittedly not together, and not with our foster brother at our heels.”

“I see.”

Elrohir continued to contemplate the stars spinning lazily above him from where he was sprawled out on the ground, waiting for the dwarves to accept. He grew curious when they still hadn’t decided, and rolled over to look at them.

Oh.

Hmm.

The young dwarf (who Elrohir now knew to the be the one named _Kili_ , and that was vaguely familiar in a way that should have alarmed the elf, had the grove ale not already addled his thoughts), had apparently decided to stop bothering with trying to snag a pipe off the older dwarves, and was currently taking in smoke (and tongue) straight from Bofur’s _mouth_.

Well.

Didn’t that just make things more interesting.

Elrohir had to admit, it was a distracting sight, and not at all unpleasant, even with the hair and beards, and he tore his gaze away from it with some difficulty to meet the eyes of Nori, who was watching Elrohir with a knowing smirk while dragging the fingers of his other hand across the young dwarf’s hip bone. Elrohir chuckled.

“Shenanigans is a good word for _that_ , as well. I shall remember it.”

Nori smirked. “Mmm, yes. Though _these_ shenanigans have far more dangerous consequences for us than the challenge your brothers thought up.” He puffed out another smoke ring and glanced over at his friends. “Though, really, what’s life without a bit of danger?”

Elrohir laughed. “I understand. Most elves would disagree, but my brother and I are not most elves, and we are made of... _earthier_ stuff.” He pulled his body up to sit with some effort, and looked down at the dwarves.

Bofur was back to smoking his pipe and chuckling down at Kili, who was now working on Nori and whining a bit because the dwarf wouldn’t give in and share his smoke. Nori was too caught up with watching the elf above him and calculating the odds of getting what he would ask for, if they won this bet. (Kili seemed to give up with a huff, and flopped himself back down onto them heavily, earning a grunt and swat from Bofur.)

Elrohir saw the contemplation in Nori's eyes and lifted an eyebrow. “Do you offer a new wager, master dwarf?”

Nori chuckled, recognizing a kindred soul, for all he was an _elf_. He'd have to remember this elf's name ( _Elrohir_ , that was it), should he find himself bored later on in their stay, and in the mood for dice and wagers.  “I think I will.” He nudged Bofur, who leaned down a bit to catch the rumbling dwarven words coming from Nori. They bickered back and forth with hands and foreign words, as Elrohir waited.

Elrohir noticed that Kili had gotten distracted by something, and was proceeding to roll off his companions’ legs in an effort to get at whatever it was he wanted. It turned out to be Elrohir’s own tankard of ale, just at his side and, miraculously, still upright and full, which Kili hummed about happily and grinned up at Elrohir (who had to admit to distraction once more, as that smile could get the dwarf anything from anyone, elf prince or otherwise; and he had half a mind to offer up an additional barrel of grove ale to the one he’d already included in his first wager, just because the young dwarf was taking such pleasure from it.) as he stole the mug away and proceeded to down it in one go.

This seemed to catch the attention of the other two dwarves, who were suddenly entirely focused on their young friend and his smiling face and the noticeable distraction that smile was causing in the elf. It was Nori who leaned over and grabbed Kili’s arm, pulling the dwarf back to them with a soft, yet dangerous, “get back over here, _now._ ” It was an awkward movement, and Kili couldn’t roll with it, so ended up sprawled over the dwarves again.

Elrohir almost laughed at the air of possession radiating from the two older dwarves.

“So,” he began, “what will it be? The daggers are lovely things, and obviously worth more to dwarves than you’ll tell me, and a bag of gold is a substantial amount. What would you have if you win? Surely your current wager doesn’t really stand up, considering what I _could_ offer?” He smiled, and it was a sharp thing. “Clearly, you are engaging in something that few of your companions approve of. I understand. My brother and I... Well. Our own...  _shenanigans_ are something we guard, as well, and often do we find ourselves needing total privacy so as not to draw attention to what we do.”

He waved his hand at the three before him as an explanation, and, though Bofur looked a bit confused (or distracted, as Kili was mouthing at his earring and pawing at his chest, and Bofur was having a hard time juggling his pipe and keeping the young dwarf’s hands from stealing under his shirt.), Nori seemed to catch on. He raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t born yesterday, master elf. You trust us with secrets we could easily use against you.”

Elrohir could only laugh and gesture down at Kili. “As if you haven’t already revealed a secret of your own?”

Nori could only snort, and it was a rueful one. “True. Though, it would be our young friend, here, who revealed it. Foolish, horny lad.” He smiled wryly, and stopped the hand that had wandered down towards his lap, but tilted his head just a bit to allow Kili--who had obviously decided that Nori should be done talking **_right now_** , elf or no--to nuzzle and lap at the skin there. “We can only be grateful that the ale didn’t go to his head _before_ his brother left.”

Elrohir snorted and rolled his eyes. “I know all about nosey siblings. So?”

Nori flicked his eyes to Bofur, who grinned and nodded, gesturing something with his pipe before tugging Kili back over to his side and keeping him there with a smoke-laced kiss. The lad went happily, mumbling something against Bofur’s lips and tangling a hand into the other dwarf’s hair, though his other hand wasn’t idle, and Nori had given up on keeping it out of his lap (not that he’d really been trying).

“A bed,” Nori spoke, voice huskier and a bit strained. “A bed, and a room with a _lock_ , preferably some distance from where our companions are staying, should things get... _well_.”

Elrohir laughed, shaking his head a bit at the audacity of the youngest dwarf, who reminded him so much of his own brother, Elladan, and his shameless ways, it was uncanny. “I’ll accept that wager, master dwarf, and I have just the room in mind, should you win. Large, comfortable bed, the silkiest, softest linens, a lock for privacy, and in its own wing, far apart from the rest of the family’s quarters, and your companions’.”

Nori’s grin was wolfish as he reached up a fist to tap against the elf’s and finalize the bet. “Accepted.”

Elrohir rocked up to his feet, not quite managing to hide the balance check the sudden movement gave him, but the dwarves were already too distracted to really notice or care, and Elrohir decided to leave it at that.

Though, he couldn’t leave it completely. As he walked away towards where he thought he heard two dwarves, an elf, and a man trying (rather unsuccessfully, to his elvish hearing) to be quiet as they carried on with their challenge, he couldn’t help but say over his shoulder, “I wouldn’t get too far into your play. I can’t promise things won’t go bad, or even that your companions won’t succeed and return faster than expected, and I really don’t think it would do for them to see you three getting up to such,” and here his voice went wicked, “ _shenanigans_ , yes?”

The soft, dwarven cursing that followed his words made Elrohir laugh, and he walked swiftly across the ground to the rest of their party, already thinking that it wouldn’t be a bad thing at all should he lose his bet with the dwarf, for surely he could take even _more_ than a bag of gold off his twin in the resulting bet over how long it would take their baby sister to notice her bed had been defiled by a threesome of dwarves.

Oh, just the thought of all the mischief and possibilities that could come from this wager... Elrohir chuckled madly, still tipsy from the ale. Maybe he’d even throw in a barrel of the heavy, ivy-colored grove ale to congratulate the dwarves on their win. And their resulting shenanigans.  Because Arwen was surely going to _throw a fit_.

(Though, come the morning, when there was much to explain all around--things to return, a horse to talk away from the sugary treats scattered around the fire's embers, a harp to fetch from the tree... _and where on earth did Ori get such a fetching comb to decorate his beard_?--and more disapproving glowers than anyone should rightly have to deal with so early in the morning and with such fierce hangovers, Elrohir had to acknowledge to himself that he should probably have been more concerned with the outcome of the night should the dwarves prove capable and lose him the bet, rather than having even more fun at his siblings' expense...)

**Author's Note:**

> **Shenanigans!!**
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> For more adventures with Bofur, Kili, Nori, and that sweet, sweet pipeweed, check out the story that inspired this oneshot, "A Special Blend".


End file.
